Going Home
by Skye Flying
Summary: Everyone has to go home at some point in their lives, and now it's Neal's turn. Neal's on his way to Houston to check out a vandalism and the theft of an Andy Warhol, but when he runs into his little sister's new husband on the case, things get a little complicated. Complicated gets worse when a gala at the museum is taken hostage by some local extremist, with Neal's sister inside.
1. Chapter 1 Conquista La Bestia

**Author's Note: I do not own White Collar. If I did, I would have the money to bribe the American Motion Picture Association to give **_**Magic Mike**_** a PG-13 rating so that I could see it (along with Channing Tatum, Matt Bomer, and the ever more age appropriate Alex Pettyfer). Anyways, I've had the idea of sending Neal and Peter to Houston for years, but it I couldn't think of any reason for them to suddenly be needed in Houston, but last week a Picasso at a satellite of the Houston Museum of Fine Arts, the Menil Collection, "Woman in a Red Armchair," was tagged with a matador slaying a bull and "Conquista," the Spanish word for conquer. So, using that incident I am blowing things out of proportion and making a crime for Neal and Peter to solve. I've also taken Matt Bomer's real life Spring, Texas roots, which is about 2 hours outside of downtown Houston, and made them Neal Caffery's. Neal's going home and his sister ****is waiting.**

**MAJOR NOTE: PAY ATTENTION TO DATES! THEY ARE SUPER IMPORTANT THROUGHOUT THE STORY!  
**

**Chapter 1-La Bestia se Conquista**

**June 13, 2012**

A young man wondered through the permanent exhibit at the Menil Collection. Hidden in his jacket were a stencil and a can of gold spray paint. It was time to send a message to Houston; to send a statement around the world. They would conquer the beast; the rich oil executives, engineers, businessmen, and doctors who made Houston so stupid and worthless. Science, business, greed, and the rich dominated the Houstonian economy, entertainment, and problems. What a waste on them! They made tickets in the Theater District expensive. They saved rich, privileged old men before children. They allowed people to continue poisoning the Earth with their cars. It was time for change. Reaching his target, Picasso's "Woman in a Red Armchair," the young man stuck the stencil to the center of the painting, between the two eyes, and tagged the painting with the image of a matador slaying a bull and the word, "Conquista" underneath. Once finished, he tore the stencil off of the painting and ran out of the hall. Phase one was complete.

**June 22, 2012-NYC FBI Office, White Collar Division**

Neal hated Mondays. They were boring, tiring, and irritatingly slow. Since returning to New York after he had found that Peter had been threatened with losing his job and prison time, he had had his position at the FBI reinstated, but was required to serve three more years with the anklet. Fortunately, it was a Friday, which would mean that he had the entire weekend to himself.

Too bad it didn't. As he walked in Peter's office, he knew his weekend was ruined. Peter's eyebrows were furrowed and he was on his office phone, begrudgingly accepting what was being said on the other end of the phone.

"Of course, Agent Morris. We will be there this evening. Should we get a car before meeting you or will you pick us up?"

After a few more moments Peter said goodbye and hung up.

"What was that about, Peter? Do we have a case? Please tell me that it's not another check fraud case, I'm going crazy with the easy stuff."

"No. Sorry to tell you Neal, but we are leaving tonight for at least a week; we were requested in Houston. Did you hear about the vandalism of a Picasso at the museum last week?"

"Peter, I can't go to Houston." Neal said, interrupting the distracted agent.

"Look, I understand that you probably had plans for the weekend, but Houston's White Collar division is already swamped and we have made a pretty good name for ourselves with that over 90% conviction rate…"

"No, Peter, I don't want to go! I left Houston behind almost twenty years ago and I promised myself that I wouldn't go back! I can't go back!" Neal panicked, slightly raising his voice at his boss.

Peter gave Neal a look as he closed the office door and made his CI sit down.

"What's going on Neal? I thought that you grew up here in St. Louis?"

Avoiding Peter's stare and pressing his fingers against his temples, Neal took a deep breath to calm down. "I didn't move back to New York until I was almost nineteen. My mother moved my sister and me to Houston when I was ten because witness protection was worried that Natalie's existence may motivate my father to come after us. Natalie was four and it was nice. We grew up in the suburbs; we went to museums and watched the city grow. Everything I told you earlier was true, but I left a few things out too keep Natalie safe. I trust you Peter, but the walls have ears. When I was eighteen Ellen flew in to tell us the truth and I started down the well worn path of my father. I missed St. Louis, but I had a normal life. I lived two blocks from school, hung out with my friends, and messed with my kid sister. I wanted to be an actor, so I joined drama club, but then my mom got sick when I was sixteen. We had to move downtown so that we could be closer to my mother's doctor. My sister was only ten, so I started pulling little cons to bring in some extra money.

"I started to pick-pocket and ran street cons in Herman Park. I wanted to be an actor still, and I got a scholarship to go to the Humphry School of Musical Theatre, but I was too cocky with a con I pulled. I was convicted of theft and sent to juvenile hall for a year. My mother got worse because she couldn't afford to keep paying all the bills and my sister was sent in to the foster care system when Mom couldn't leave the hospital. A few months later my mother died and I couldn't even go to the funeral.

"When I got out of juvenile hall I was only about five months from my eighteenth birthday, but they wouldn't let me see my sister because they thought I was a 'negative influence.' The only contact that we had had since my mother had stopped bringing Natalie to see me at juvenile hall once she was bed ridden was the occasional letter my social worker would deliver. My sister was angry with me. She couldn't get over the fact that I wasn't at the funeral and she didn't understand why I couldn't go to see her immediately after I got out. She was very sad for a long time and for about every five letters I sent I would receive one back. There wasn't anything cruel, but she was always asking when we could meet, why didn't we hang out, what was happening, and why we couldn't stay with Ellen. I was in this disgusting foster home. It sucked Peter, but I was trying to behave so that they would let me have custody of my sister once I turned eighteen. I stopped pulling cons, did well in school, and applied for Bartending School as I was finishing my senior year.

"My social worker said that I was doing better, and she set up a visit for my sister and me. I was so excited. I saved up money from a job I had as a dishwasher to buy her a gift card for the book store, but when I saw her she wasn't the nerdy little girl who loved to watch cartoons and read old comic books. She was twelve years old, full of sadness because she felt betrayed by her entire family. She smiled at me, but she told me not to try to get custody of her when I turned eighteen. She said that I was her brother, that she loved me, but that I couldn't be her father. That she didn't want me to be her father. She told me to visit, that she wanted to see me, but that she couldn't rely on me to take care of her when I had let her down two years before. She understood it had all been for mom, but she wanted to stay with her foster family. I found out a few years later that that family was terrible. They would lock her in the closet when she didn't follow their rules and forced her to follow their insane religion. Can you understand how much it hurts to know your little sister, the little girl who made you draw tigers and the skyline on her bedroom walls, would rather live with monsters?

"After a few more visits, I couldn't take that I had failed my own little sister, so I dropped out of high school six weeks before graduation and moved to Boston. I tried not to be a con, but it didn't work. I had tried to sell my paintings, but no one would buy them. Then I found that I could reproduce just about anything. I began pick-pocketing again, and then I met a few different cons and got started in museum heists. I've seen my sister ten times since she was twelve; most of those were after you had caught me. She came by a few times when I was in prison and we managed to come to somewhat of an understanding. She forgave me years ago, but she doesn't want anything to do with me. We exchange holiday and birthday cards, and a few letters too, but she stays in Houston because it's the only place that ever offered her a sense home. I avoid going back because that was the place I first screwed up. If I had just kept my nose clean, gotten a job instead conning, I could have become an actor, but God Peter, I always take the easy way out! I always give up too fucking early!"

"No you don't Neal. You came back to New York to save my job; you follow every case through until the end, even the mortgage and check fraud cases. You have changed, Neal. You don't have to see your sister if we go, and I won't make you go, but everyone has to go home at some point in their lives." Peter told his friend, squeezing his shoulder. "If you want to join me, avenge a Picasso, and do your job, here's your ticket. We'll be there for at least a week, but Morris said to pack for warm weather. I'll be leaving the office at 4:15 this afternoon to head to JFK. I need to go home and pack right now, but if you want to join me in Houston, you can meet me back here at 4:00 this afternoon." With that, Peter left his office, and Neal, to go home, kiss his wife, pack, and give his older brother a call.

**-White Collar-White Collar-White Collar-**

It was 4:30 and Neal hadn't shown up yet. Peter sighed. He had thought his friend would come, but you could only lead a horse to water, not make them drink. An old friend of his, Harvey Specter, a lawyer, had told him he had similar problems with his new associate, but that eventually the horse is broken. Peter knew Neal, and he knew that Neal would eventually go back to clean up his mess, but that it may take a few more years. Locking his desk drawers, grabbing a file, turning out the lights, and shutting his office door, Peter headed for his car. Jones and Diana had promised to take it back to his house that evening if he parked it in the airport garage.

As Peter approached his car, he saw Neal Caffery, with his fedora, a suitcase, and a backpack leaning on the trunk.

"What took you so long, Peter? I thought that we were going to leave at 4:15, it's almost a quarter to five!" Neal said laughter present in his eyes.

"Get in Caffery. You're going to make us miss our flight."

"No, that's you!"

They continued their friendly banter as they loaded their luggage in Peter's trunk and headed to the airport.

Neal Caffery was returning home.

*******White Collar****************************************************************

**June 22, 2012-JFK Airport**

Taking their seats, row 15, seats A and B, Neal and Peter were already agitated. Neal's window seat was letting in too much of the setting sun's light, while Peter could smell an earlier cigarette wafting off of the frat boy next to him..

Things had gone downhill since they had stepped into the security line. The line had been long and the woman checking each person going through the line had plane tickets was smacking her gum. The bubble popped and saliva squished as she examined their tickets. She tried to flirt with Neal, and held up line when she took a call on her cell phone.

Putting their bags in bins and taking off their shoes, the friends waited to walk through the x-ray machines. Peter easily passed, but a quarter Neal had forgotten to take out of his jacket pocket forced them to wait as a balding, sweaty TSA agent preformed a manual search of the con.

Racing to their gate, Peter and Neal worried that they would miss their flight. Unfortunately, they found that the plane had been delayed another hour and a half. While waiting by the gate, the friends went over the file that had been sent from Houston. It turned out that not only had a painting in the Menil collection been tagged by a street artist, but another item, a self-portrait by Andy Warhol, at the Museum of Fine Arts, had been stolen and replaced with a fake, a few day after the vandalism. No one could truly understand how the self-portrait had been stolen, it was ginormous, but it had been stolen and behind the fakes were the same tag as placed on the Picasso. The tag had also appeared on the gift shop window of the Hobby Center, and in several Metro light rail cars.

As Neal was explaining the importance of the bull fight in Spanish art to Peter, a flight attendant asked them what drinks they wanted and if they needed headphones for the entertainment screens on the back of the seats in front of them. Both ordered water, but the young woman "accidently" dropped Peter's drink in his lap as she handed it to him. Apologizing with harshness in her voice and handed the FBI agent several napkins before she pulled her cart up to the next row.

As Peter felt the cold drink and ice melt through his pants, he felt the uncomfortable shock of being wet. The sloppy feeling that everyone would notice and think he had wet himself. Peter hated the frezzing water that had shocked his thighs and crotch, but dabbed up what could with the small, thin airline napkins. This flight couldn't get worse.

Of course, it did. The cigarette smelling frat boy next to Peter had fallen asleep before the plane had even taken off, snoring obnoxiously loudly and the five year old behind Neal's seat continued to kick the back of his chair. Fifty minutes before landing, it began to rain and giant bumps of turbulence made Neal and Peter feel sick. Soon, the air masks came down, with the pilot announcing over the cracking speaker that the oxygen in the cabin was low. As the plane descended to land, it seemed to Peter and Neal that every possible, terrible thing that could happen on a plane, short of it falling out of the sky had happened, just to produce more problems. Finally, at 10:30 that night Houston time, the plane landed.

Getting off the plane and heading to the baggage claim at Bush Intercontinental Airport proved difficult. Their luggage carousal was taking forever, but an airline employee announced to everyone on the flight, who had crowded around the carousal, that all of their bags had accidently been sent to Dallas, but that they had been loaded on a plane and would arrive in half an hour. Peter groaned, upset he would be waiting at the airport for another half an hour.

Agent Morris had told Peter that they would need to rent a car during their stay, but that the FBI would reimburse Peter for the rental and gas. It was a good deal, but Peter missed his car. It was always clean, never smelled, and he never worried what someone else had spilt in it. Rental cars might as well have been possessed by ghosts. People dropped food, spilled drinks, and did unsavory things in the back seat. Peter hated using communal property, it was the exact reason he kept his own mug in his office.

After waiting half an hour, the FBI agent and consultant found their bags and began the trek to the car rental, just to find that it had closed ten minutes ago. Peter wasn't sure if it was his good fortune or God punishing him for not appreciating what he had been given. After a few curses from both men, Peter called agent Morris.

"Morris, the car rental shop is closed. Is there anyone who you can send to pick us up?"

"I can't be there soon, but give me twenty minutes, Burke; just hang tight for a bit. I'll give Salazar a call; he lives close by the airport."

Forty minutes after the phone call Diego Salazar drove up to the passenger pick up, which was still a whirlwind of madness despite it begin after 11:00 that night.

"Welcome to Houston Agent Burke, Mr. Caffery," greeted Salazar. "Do you know where you are supposed to be staying?"

"The Double Tree." Peter replied

"That's nice. I stayed there back in October. They serve a nice breakfast."

"Why were you staying there if you live in the city?" Peter asked the new agent.

"My girlfriend," The young man said a nod. "Every October Susan G. Komen sponsors 'Walk for a Cure' around Allen Parkway. The Double Tree and the Hyatt offer discounted rates for race volunteers and participants. I live out here in Humble because my aunt needs help with my grandmother occasionally. We stayed at the Double Tree so that I wouldn't have to wake up at 5 in the morning to get to the walk."

Peter and Neal nodded their heads. Salazar was nice enough, but they were falling asleep on their feet after the flight from hell. Finally, they arrived at the hotel and checked in. They were sharing a room with two single beds. The air was chilly from the air conditioner by the window, a cool change from the warm, humid air outside, and the view from their room was okay. It faced a few buildings, but nothing as spectacular as the Empire State or Chrysler buildings back in New York. Before falling asleep, Neal told Peter, "It go a lot bigger, Peter. This city grew up."

**So there is Chapter 1. I hope you enjoyed this!**

**Neal: Why did you make our flight so terrible?**

**Peter: Why did you have that flight attendant spill water all over me?**

**Me: Because this is fanfiction and I can do whatever I please with you! MAWHAHAHA!**

**As I am sure you can see, I hate flying. I've never had a flight quite this terrible, but I have had some pretty nasty ones. I once had the center seat and on the aisle was a man doing homework and chewing tobacco. By the window was some old fart who had at least 3 scotch and cokes before the end of the flight. Also, they stopped serving peanuts and went for pretzels. Ewww! I also had a flight once when I was 13 at the window, but my plane had been late, I was hungry, and the college boys next to me were creepy. They didn't talk o me, but they gave off that "creepy" vibe. Please review, it will keep me going! Constructive criticism, suggestions, abundant praise, and flames I use to roast wenies are all welcome. I'm a review-addict, feed my addiction!**


	2. Chapter 2 The Cop and the Engineer

**Author's Note: Here is chapter two. Readers, meet Neal's sister, Natalie Caffery. Natalie Caffery, meet my readers.**

**Natalie: Screw this. I'm only here because you invented me. If you didn't have control over me, I wouldn't have let Neal enter the state. **

**Me: What are you forgetting Natalie? **

**Natalie: I wouldn't have let Neal enter the state, oh powerful, wonderful master of things controlling my existence, imaginary as it is.**

**Me: That's right! I own your hide. Disclaimer please, product of my imagination and psychological problems stemming from being an only child who was jealous of my cousin because I wanted an older brother.**

**Natalie: Skye Flying does not own White Collar; it belongs to USA and its creators. She only owns me and other unrecognizable characters. She does not own references to any recognized characters, books, products or amazing cars. She also doesn't own Suits or Harvey Specter, despite how much she wants to. Finally, Skye Flying doesn't own the lyrics or music to Missy Higgin's amazing, fantastic song, **_**Secret**_**; she just listens to it on repeat while writing.**

**Me: You make me sound psycho Natalie…Thank you!**

**Natalie: Of course master.**

**Thanks to my super Beta who I'm so sorry I forgot last chapter, Sara Caffrey, also known as Kate. Check her out, give her love, she keeps my language "T." **

**Enjoy Readers! ****DON'T FORGET TO PAY ATTENTION TO THE DATES!**

**Chapter 2-The Cop and the Engineer**

**Three Months Ago…**

**March 12, 2012, Montrose area of Houston, Sunrise**

Orange sunlight began creeping through the large bedroom window of an apartment on West Alabama. It was a large bedroom, several stories above the street. Out the window, the sun could be seen rising over the downtown skyline. The bedroom itself was orange, a brilliant, ridiculous mango orange that was only toned down by the black comforter that lay forgotten on the wooden floor. The room was silent except for the blue heeler who lay between the bed and the nightstand as his legs ran in their sleep, scratching the wooden floor with his nails. No television was in the room, but two computers sat charging on the short bookshelf in the corner opposite the door.

At exactly 6:30, loud music filled the room via the docked iPod.

"_You were from the North, I was from the South  
We were form opposite places, different towns  
But I knew it was good and you knew it was too  
So we moved together like a ball and chain  
Minds becoming two halves of the same  
It was real, but in shadows it grew  
Cos you've got a secret don't ya babe?_"

The fair young woman in the bed began groping for the off button on her alarm. Once successfully changing the setting on her alarm from her iPod to FM Radio and then to the nonstop drone of AM morning radio, she tried to sit up and get a look at the radio only to be prevented by strong arms around her waist. The woman smiled, giggling and rolling her eyes.

"Rob, you have to let me get up! I need to go for my run and if I don't go soon I won't have time."

The dark skinned young man next to her laughed. He was awake, but he kept his eyes closed and his arms, well toned from his years as a detective in Houston's Crime Reduction Unit, firmly around the wriggling woman.

"I'm sorry, Miss,' he began teasing as he opened his eyes, "I can't let you go. I have substantial evidence to believe that you are a flight risk and must be kept in custody."

The young woman stopped wriggling and laughed as her lover pinned her down on the bed.

"And what evidence have you compiled against me, Officer Rob?" the woman teased.

Rob smiled down at the young woman. "You see Natalie, I am much too comfortable with you in my bed and I won't be letting you leave until I get my morning kiss."

Natalie groaned, burying her face into her pillow, a red blush appearing across her pale face. "At least let me brush my teeth! I'm going to taste horrible and you're going to leave me after only a month of marriage!"

"You wound me wife!" Rob play pouted. "You feed me much too well to for me to leave you over something as something as silly as your rank morning breath."

"You're not going to let me up until I kiss you are you?"

"Not by a longshot dear."

Natalie rolled her eyes at her husband. "Fine, I'll kiss you, but I'm warning you I have terrible morning breath."

"Don't care," Rob said as he pressed his lips to Natalie's, smiles gracing their faces as his chocolate colored fingers intertwined with her milky white ones, their new wedding bands clacking together as they continued the kiss.

After finally escaping her husband, Natalie changed into a pair of jogging shorts, a sports bra, and an old t-shirt. Grabbing her iPod and keys, Natalie plugged in and began her daily run. Legs pumping, the drum of her music pounding against the ear buds, Natalie relished in the rush she felt throughout her body as she pushed herself to go faster. Her worries, stresses, anger, and nightmares stamping into the pavement as she continued to run around the park.

Natalie had had _that dream_ during the night. She was ten years old again and her mother had just died. Neal was nowhere to be found because he was in prison and she was alone in the world. The nice couple she had been staying with for almost five months was trying to comfort her, but her mother was gone and so was her brother. The fear, grief, and anger immediately began eating her from the inside, and then, like every time she had had the dream in the past twenty years, she was her mother. She was alone and dying. She felt pain everywhere in her body and there was a little girl next to her. The little girl was trying to tell her about her field trip to the science museum and she wanted to make the child happy. Listening intently, she tried to pay attention, but all that she could feel was pain.

Natalie pushed herself harder. The first step in preventing breast cancer was maintaining a healthy diet, exercise routine, and abstaining from alcohol and Tabaco. Natalie refused to die the same way as her mother. She would do everything she could to prevent breast cancer. She refused to lose one of her breasts just to lose her life as a frail, broken shell of the woman she had become. Neal may have left them alone, breaking their mother's heart?, but she would remember her mother as the beautiful, graceful woman who scolded her mischievous son and corrected her unmannered daughter.

_The dream_, like always, had scared her awake, leaving her sweating and heaving for oxygen. It had been months since she had last had the dream, but Natalie couldn't help but smile at the difference of this dream: Rob was there.

Rob had been holding her in his arms, stroking her hair as she tried to calm down. He hadn't asked questions or demanded she leave the room, he was just _there_, and she had never wanted any more than that. The next thing she knew, her alarm was going off and her new husband was teasing her, trying to steal a kiss in the Saturday morning sunrise.

Natalie smiled as she began to turn a curve. Saturdays were nice. She would go for a run and then around 10am Rob and she continued their tradition from dating life, going to the movies before making lunch together. The past two months had been the happiest in her life. She was married to a man who asked nothing of her other than that she love him back as completely as he loved her. She had earned the job that she had been dreaming of since taking chemistry fifteen years earlier and nothing of her old life burdened her any longer. She had cut the cord and started to forget the pain she had experienced for years, when she had blamed her brother for the problems of childhood. To be honest, when she had finally sent Neal a letter right after her high school graduation, telling him that she missed him and did not blame him for all that had happened when their mother had died; her life had started looking up.

Natalie was nearing the last curve of the circular pathway in the park near her apartment. It was a good run. She felt energized and despite the heat, the slight breeze created by her forward momentum was cooling. She began her cool down, stretching as she walked back home, but as she began to cross Montrose at the "Walk" signal, some idiot speeding down the street in a yellow sports car, made her jump back to the side walk.

**March 12, 2012, Natalie and Rob's Apartment, Houston**

Rob and Natalie were debating who to leave Jax, their blue heeler, with during their honeymoon. While they had been married for almost two months, they had decided to take their honeymoon in August so that they could go to London for the Olympics. Since they had met at Tarpon's Mediterranean Bar and Grill in 2008 as Michael Phelps scored his record breaking victory, it seemed like the best place to celebrate their nuptials. They had taken a mini-honeymoon, a five day vacation to New Orleans, but both were excited to go to the opening ceremony and watch the Olympians in person. It had been that pull to the games, and Natalie's deafening cheers as Phelps set his record, that sealed their fate together. Rob had reasoned that any girl who could be that excited about someone all the way in China winning a medal for their country had to be worth knowing.

"We could leave him with Bobbie; she would love to have her baby back for a couple of weeks." Natalie suggested as she finished constructing her sandwich.

"But he'll come home all stinky from those other dogs!" Rob wined.

Natalie laughed at his pouting. "Do you have any other suggestions?"

"My parents?" Rob supplied with a teasing smile.

Natalie turned crimson. "We can't do that! He scars your mother half to death every time he gets up to move. Your father is going to come home from work one day to find either Jax roasting your mother or your mother digging Jax's grave!"

"We could leave him with my brother. Joseph would love to get out of my parents' house and the apartment is a lot closer to St. Thomas. It can save the environment!"

Natalie thought about it for a moment. Joseph was nice enough and she was sure that he would take care of Jax, but he didn't have the best track record.

"I don't know Rob. This is the same kid who we had to take to pick up from a rave because he shot a firecracker out of his ass. I love your brother, but I'm not so sure I trust him to leave the apartment in one piece and our dog alive."

"That was over a year ago. He'll be fine here; I guarantee it. If the apartment isn't in one piece when we get back, I'll clean up everything myself." Rob offered an undeniable smile on his handsome face.

Natalie bit her lip for a moment. She knew that she wouldn't be able to hold out for very long, but she was still apprehensive. Joseph had improved since he was sixteen, when she had first met him, but he was still that stupid sixteen years old at heart.

Sighing, Natalie gave in. "Fine, he can stay here, but he cannot bring anyone home and he must make sure that Jax is put above everything."

"Don't worry; I'm going to make sure he knows all the rules." Rob replied, kissing her cheek as they sat at the island.

"He sleeps in the guest room too. I'm sorry, but I don't think I could sleep in our bed again knowing that your brother had been it."

"Of course! Do you really think I want to sleep in the same bed as my brother? I had to share a bathroom with him growing up! I can't imagine sharing a room, let alone my bed!"

Natalie giggled as her husband's eyes went wide with fear, but she knew that she owed him and explaination. Sadly smiling, Natalie took Rob's large hand.

"You haven't asked me about last night." Natalie stated.

Pushing a loose hair back, Rob replied, "I interrogate people for a living. I know when someone wants to talk about and incident and when to let them come to you."

"I want to tell you. You know the basics, I guess, but you should know the whole story, especially if you are going to be sleeping with me for the rest of our lives.

"The dream I had last night was one that I have been having since I lost my mom. I'm ten years old again and my mother just died, falling asleep as I told her about my field trip. I start feeling all the emotions I felt at that moment and then I'm in my mother's body, fighting pain while trying to pay attention to the little girl talking my ear off. I miss my son and I worry for both of my children. You know the basic story I guess: my brother was in juvenile hall, we had left my father when I was four, and my mother was in a bed at MD Anderson, knowing she would be dead within a few months. I was taken by CPS and shuffled through a few foster homes until I was twelve and finally got to see my brother again.

"He was doing so well Rob. I was so happy that he was working hard and being the brother I remembered from before Mom got sick. He had sent me a letter telling me that he was going to try to get custody, but I knew what happened to teen parents. My brother would have to put his life on hold for six years and I couldn't ask that of him. He was about to finish high school and he deserved to go to college, art school, or become an actor, not get stuck raising me. I told him so, but he didn't want to hear any of it. I drove my own brother into being a con artist like our father Rob. I blamed myself for years, but I finally got over it. I stopped blaming Neal for the crap that went down when we were kids and I forgave him for becoming a con, but we don't really talk that much.

"I sent him an invitation to the wedding, and I know he couldn't come, but he didn't even send me a card or give me a call. I know that we are distant with each other, but I was a little disappointed; Neal's the only family I had left in the world, and I had seen how you and Joseph are with each other and I wanted to have at least a tiny bit of that relationship with my brother. I wanted there to be someone who could tell an embarrassing story about a younger me and walk down the aisle with me. I get that Neal can't be here, I accepted that years ago, but I was hoping that he would at least give me a call to say congratulations." Putting her plate in the sink and leaning against the counter, Natalie smiled with a chuckle. "I actually tried calling him and I called his handler at the FBI about a week before the wedding, but he didn't want to talk; he just let my call go to voicemail. I left a message at his house, but he never called me back."

Rob smiled. "Thanks for telling me."

A brilliant grin fell over Natalie's face as she hugged her husband, "Well, I guess I finally understood last night that you're always going to be there. Before I got to Leonor's when I was fourteen, I never felt I could rely on that many people. I kept thinking for years that I was alone, but then I found you, your family, and I let the walls come down. I don't think I could live without you now."

Rob felt his heart swell with joy, pulling his wife tighter against himself.

"I don't want to live without you, Nat."

**Present Day **

**June 23, 2012 Natalie and Rob's Apartment**

Natalie jumped back against the curb as a black Camry sped down West Alabama. Regaining her composure, Natalie crossed the street to her building, walked up the stairs, and entered her apartment, sweat from her run making her skin shine in the light. Walking into the kitchen in search of a water bottle, a fluorescent green post it note on the island caught her attention. It read:

_Got called in to work._

_Won't be long; meet me at the movie theatre at 11._

Natalie smiled. Her husband was a committed detective, but she occasionally worried. Rob focused on gang related crimes, mostly drugs, sex trafficking, guns, and graffiti taggers, but occasionally he had to go undercover to bust drug or sex trafficking chains. Right after Natalie had first met him, he disappeared for almost a month. She had felt like an idiot, thinking that she had scared them off after their first date, but after getting a frantic phone call at three in the morning, he had apologized for not calling her back. He explained that he couldn't say much about the case, but that he had been undercover and had only wrapped up the case and received his private phone back a few hours earlier. Then, realizing that it was "3 o'fuck in the morning," he began to quickly apologize for the odd hour of his call.

When Rob had told her that he would call back later in the day, Natalie had immediately told him his call was fine, explaining that she had not yet gone to bed because she had only just finished calculations for an experiment she was scheduled to perform that afternoon. He began asking her about her job, explaining what he legally could of his as a detective. After explaining her job at Marathon Oil as a Chemical Engineer specializing in the development of petrochemicals and safer pipes for extracting oil, Rob had flirtatiously asked if she could explain some of the basics behind making meth and other drugs. Natalie still isn't sure how she had done it, but somehow she had managed to tell him in her weariness that she "would love to teach him everything possible about the chemistry of drugs over dinner at the Hyatt."

Natalie giggled at the memory as she returned the water pitcher to the fridge and headed to the bathroom for a bath. Five months of marriage had been blissful, but she hadn't taken the time to take a long, warm bubble bath in a few weeks, but it wasn't even 8:30 in the morning yet; she had time before she had to meet Rob and a bath seemed like a wonderful idea.

**Saturday, June 23, 2012-FBI Headquarters, Houston, TX**

Rob impatiently tapped his foot as he waited in the uncomfortable plastic chair at the FBI. Rob didn't mind being at the FBI; he often worked closely with the FBI to conduct drug or sex trafficking busts in the city that spanned out of the state, but he hated waiting. It was incredibly boring and a waste of a perfectly good Saturday morning. He could have made a big breakfast or taken Jax to the dog park before leaving for the movie. Living with Natalie had made him an even more of an early riser than he had been before they moved in together after the wedding. In five months, Natalie had only slept past eight in the morning a handful of times: several times where when she was trying to make calculations that were not working out correctly and had stayed up late to figure them out, once when she caught a cold, a few times after midnight movies together, and then the day after she had sprained her ankle tripping down the stairs because Jax had gone crazy in the stairwell. The alarm rang at 6:00am Monday through Friday and at 6:30am on the weekends. Initially Rob slept in until 9:00am on the weekends, but after discovering the amount of work his wife managed to get done during the two and a half hours that he slept, he started getting up by seven, about forty-five minutes before Natalie arrived back from her daily run. In that time he could shower, make breakfast, and read a few chapters in whichever science fiction book he had picked up.

Every few weekends, he and Natalie took Jax to the dog park for an hour before going to a movie between 10am and 2pm. It was a nice routine. Saturdays were no longer just time for him to go to movies and the bar, they were relaxing and fun, but occasionally, Rob was called in on a case. Before his early rising days, being called in was irritating because it made him wake up early, but over the past few months it wasted his Saturdays waiting for others who were running late as well. On top of that, the FBI building was almost always overflowing with a certain level of superiority. Some FBI agents thought that city detectives and cops were below them, but it was a small pain. Rob was an officer of the law. He stopped drug and human trafficking, helping Houstonians and their kids to be safe, but dammit all to Dallas, if the FBI kept him waiting ten more minutes, he was leaving.

At that moment a skinny, short, underdressed probie with a stack of folders was speeding towards him. His hair was a mess, his shirt miss-buttoned, and his forehead glistening with sweat.

"Mr. Wade?" The kid asked.

Rolling his eyes as he stood up to full height, almost a foot above the novice FBI agent, Rob corrected him, "Detective Rob Wade, Houston Police Department Crime Reduction Unit." Offering his hand out to the younger man added, "What can I do for the FBI today."

"I'm sorry, I don't quite know, but Agent McDonald said everything you need to know is in here. He also instructed me to tell you that the FBI needs your help because of your expertise and experience in gang symbols. If you'll follow me, I can take you to see your superior and Agent Burke."

**Pictures of Natalie and Rob can be found on my Flicker Account, Skye Flying. I'll also be adding pictures of the apartment and locations in Houston that the characters visit. **


End file.
